


Body Issue

by VelvetPaw



Category: Men's Hockey RPF
Genre: 2019-20 season future fic, Bets & Wagers, ESPN Body Issue, Gen, Team Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-20
Updated: 2019-09-20
Packaged: 2020-10-24 13:54:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,906
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20707106
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VelvetPaw/pseuds/VelvetPaw
Summary: A pre-season wager has naked consequences.





	Body Issue

**Author's Note:**

> Dear Hockey Gods,
> 
> If you're answering prayers, here's mine. 
> 
> -VelvetPaw
> 
> As always, a huge and heartfelt thank you to my beta, proof-reader extraordinaire, and general cheerleader: [Batik](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Batik/pseuds/Batik). She makes my work so much better, in so many ways!

Sid smiled and greeted people, shaking hands and exchanging pleasantries about how good it was to be back as he made his way down the corridor and into the players’ lounge. He stopped just long enough to grab the handful of memos and envelopes stuffed into his team mailbox before heading toward the dressing room and another season of Penguins hockey.

Walking down the hall, he didn’t try to keep the bounce out of his step, as he idly flipped through the memos, barely taking in the “Remember the date” reminders for the Christmas commercial and Pens and Paws calendar shoots and announcements for upcoming mandatory training workshops. He tore open a couple of envelopes — a thing from one of his sponsors, an invitation to speak and yet another invitation from ESPN to do their body issue.

As he opened the locker room door, he stuffed the memos and letters into a side pocket of his gear bag, to be dealt with later. All except the ESPN invite, which he had absolutely no intention of accepting. Ever. That he wadded into a ball and tossed at the nearest trash can, missing by a foot or so. 

From a handful of stalls away, Patric Hornqvist flashed a grin at his captain. “Hope you’ve worked harder on your hockey training than your basketball skills this summer, Sid.”

Sid smiled back hugely. Damn, he’d missed these guys! “Eh, not so much.”

“What’s this? Sid been slacking off on training?” Geno poked his head over Patric’s shoulder, eyeing Sid’s tanned and summer-muscled body up and down before sticking his tongue out ever so slightly and grinning. “I have to fine Sid for failing his physical?”

“Yeah, like that would ever happen,” Kris rolled his eyes dramatically and plipped Sid on the ear, urging him out of the way as he hauled his own gear bag into the locker room.

Sid yelped and glared at Kris as the guys close enough to hear the exchange chuckled.

“Maybe you can’t get him on his conditioning, but you can get him for littering,” Bryan Rust said as he picked up the ball of paper that had landed practically on his feet.

“Ooh, most serious offense, Sid. Messing up locker room. Set such bad example for all the rookies. That’s a least $10,000.”

“What? That’s ridiculous! I was going to pick it up after I set my bag down. Rusty just beat me to it.” Sid protested vehemently, glaring as Geno crossed his nicely defined arms and leaned back against a stall, smirk firmly in place.

“What the hell is this, Sid?” Sid turned away from his appreciation of the results of Geno’s summer training to see Rusty holding the wadded up letter.

“Oh, that. Just ESPN pestering me again.”

“Again?” Rusty sounded disbelieving. “They’ve asked before?”

“Asked what?” Brian Dumoulin chimed in, curious now about the mystery letter.

“The body issue. ESPN is apparently asking Sid, _ again_, if he’d do the body issue.” Halfway through the pronouncement, one of those lulls that sometimes happen in group conversations had fallen over the room, leaving the last of Bryan’s words sounding loud in the silence.

“Wait,” Kris grabbed the letter out of Bryan’s hand, disbelief plain on his face and in his voice. “They asked _Sid?_”

“Fuck you very much, Tanger.” Sid grimaced as he made his way to his stall, knowing he’d never hear the end of this now.

“Whoo, they want Sid’s butt and they cannot lie,” Jake Guentzel rapped badly, setting off a chorus of laughter.

Sid pointed at Jake. “Okay, first off, never do that again.” Jake just grinned back cheekily, flashing his too-innocent-looking dimples. “Secondly, it is not a big deal. They send a letter every year. It’s probably just some generic form letter they send out to a bunch of people.”

Several of the guys exchanged looks with each other before Kris threw the letter ball at Sid, hitting him in the head. “Sid, you’re an idiot. And not even a particularly good-looking one.” The room hooted. “They don’t just send out form letters for something like this.”

“Yeah, ESPN’s a classy publication, personal-invitation booty calls only,” Jack Johnson teased.

“Whatever,” Sid scoffed. “It’s not like I’m going to pose with a rubber duck covering my junk.”

“So, like, they want Sid to pose for naked issue?” Geno asked for clarification. 

“Yeah, G. They want Sid to do one of the naked photo shoots like Evander Kane and Tyler Seguin did.” Brian Dumoulin’s grin was wicked.

Geno’s eyes lit with unholy glee. “You been face of hockey forever, now want you to be ass of hockey, too?” The entire room burst into raucous laughter and obnoxious puns.

Sid rolled his eyes in fond exasperation. Why had he missed these guys, again? “Yeah, yeah, whatever. It’s not like I’m going to do it, so it doesn’t matter.”

“But Sid! You have to! Must show off whole other side of Penguins hockey!” Geno exclaimed, as the guys snorted at Geno’s unintentional pun. “How Jen always say, ‘Put best foot forward!’” Geno grinned mischievously.

Patric chortled. “It’s not his foot they want him to put forward.” 

“Your milkshake would bring all the boys to the yard, Sid,” Jared McCann piped up, causing several of the younger guys to snort.

Sid rubbed two fingers between his brows, feeling suddenly old. “Okay, I don’t even want to know what that means. Maybe, we can just concentrate on something more important. Focus on winning another Cup for Pittsburgh, eh?”

Geno stood up and walked over to stand in front of Sid. He crossed his arms over his chest and smiled down at Sid, a dangerous look in his eye. Sid watched as Geno’s expression changed, a gleeful, almost devious look — there and then gone — before being replaced by something more calculating; he knew he shouldn’t trust that look, knew it didn’t bode well for him.

Finally, when he had the attention of the whole room, Geno said, “You want another Cup? How about we make bet?”

Sid stood, too, unable to back down from a direct challenge. He narrowed his eyes and glared at Geno. “I’m not going to do anything to jinx it.”

“No, not jinx. Just bet. You want Cup? We get you Cup.”

“Oh, yeah? Just like that, huh?” Sid scoffed.

“Not just like that! Is hard. Have to work asses off to get for you. So we do the work, put our asses on the line, you do the same. We get Cup, you do naked pictures!”

The room erupted into cheers and jeers, and Sid groaned mentally. Fuck, he’d walked right into that one. 

“You’re not getting the Cup just for me you know,” Sid tried to back-pedal, but Geno was having none of it.

“You asked for another Cup, Sid. Do you want or not?” 

Sid glared, knowing he was too competitive to back down from the challenge. “Of course, I want another Cup!”

The devious, satisfied glint was back in Geno’s eyes and Sid was forcefully reminded of the look on Flower’s face just after he’d pulled off a truly epic prank. “Fine, we win, you do naked pictures.” 

Fuck, he was so screwed! Thinking fast, Sid sought to mitigate the damage. “_If _ we win,” Sid paused to let that sink in, “_if _ we win another Cup, I’m not doing the body issue alone. Hockey is a team sport after all. So, _ if _ we win, _ we _ will do the body issue.” Sid flipped his hand back and forth between Geno and himself, indicating exactly who “we” included.

Geno’s jaw dropped, as the room descended into another round of chirps, but he manned up bravely. “Fine, we do naked issue together.”

“Fine!” Sid stuck his hand out and they shook on it.

Sid knew from the minute he saw Geno play at training camp that this was going to be another special year. Geno was obviously committed and back on track with Penguins-style hockey. And the feeling was contagious. His new wingers, Tanev and Galchenyuk, could obviously feel it, too, and they played hard to match that skill level. Not that Sid would ever say it out loud, but he knew, deep down, that if they could just stay healthy, this was going to be another great year.

When Geno scored his first goal in the training camp scrimmage, he made sure to skate by Sid and wink ostentatiously. Sid just rolled his eyes, but he couldn’t keep a pleased little smirk entirely contained.

As the season started, the bet was all but forgotten. Hockey was back and it deserved his full attention. At least until he arrived at practice one morning to find matching boxes of Tim Hortons doughnuts in his and Geno’s stalls.

He looked around the suspiciously full locker room to see most of his teammates were stifling barely controlled laughter. He looked at Geno to see if he knew what was going on, but he looked equally perplexed. “Um, thanks for the doughnuts, I guess?”

The team burst into laughter at Sid’s confusion. Several players nudged Tanger, offering him congratulations on his choice. Sid waited them out before asking, “Something you need to share, Kris?”

Kris grinned evilly. “We’ve decided to have a competition of our own. A complement to your bet with Geno.” Sid barely resisted the urge to face palm; he was definitely going to regret asking.

“What kind of competition?”

“We’re going to find the perfect prop for your body issue spread!” Tanger cackled as Sid looked down at the box before dropping it like it was on fire. The room dissolved into laughter again.

“Fuck you, Tanger!” Sid hid his smile by turning his back on the room to start putting on his gear. Ignoring them was obviously the only solution.

As they finally headed out for the ice, Sid nudged Geno and nodded to the discarded box of pastry. “This is all your fault. You know that, right?”

Geno just stuffed the last half of a doughnut in his mouth and grinned broadly.

They played hockey. Sometimes good hockey, sometimes less so, occasionally even great hockey. On the whole, they won more than they lost. Sid came to associate the passing of each week with a new “prop” suggestion. National flags, jars of caviar and bottles maple syrup, paper snowflakes and fake beards were just some of the suggestions. Sid frequently teased that, if they put even half as much creativity into their hockey, they’d be unstoppable. But that was mostly just for show, because they _ were _ putting in hard work and creativity and it was paying off with wins.

Geno, in particular, was having an amazing season. When the All-Star nominations came in, it was no surprise he was on the list. He grumbled about having to give up his week on the beach, but Sid could tell he was pleased with the recognition.

As the hunt to secure a playoff berth got serious, the Pens buckled down. Despite some key injuries, the team stepped up and kept winning and winning.

When the players each had taken a turn making their suggestion, Sid thought the props ideas would stop, but no. By then word of the competition had spread. Dana Heinze’s offering was a pair of brand new jock straps, Jon Taglianetti suggested a pair of snow cones. Dr. Vyas offered matching sets of dentures. 

Sid wasn’t sure whether he wanted to laugh or to cry when he realized how far word of this had spread.

The night they clinched their playoff berth, Sully gave his usual post-game speech. Sid was only half listening as he struggled out of his gear and prepared to face the media. 

“Sid! Geno!”

Sid’s head snapped up as the coach’s perpetually hoarse voice called his name. “Boys, you’ve all done a damn fine job with your suggestions. It’s been a helluva competition all season long. But now it’s time to end this.” He grabbed a couple boxes from Sergei Gonchar and flipped them to Sid and Geno.

Sid looked down to see ... a box of dryer sheets?

“No way would they let you pose with an entire dryer, so I figured these would have to do.”

There was silence in the locker room for one breathless second, then the entire team howled with laughter.

“Media in 20 boys, and I expect you to be dressed in something appropriate for the regular scrum. Save those for the off-season!” Sully’s parting shot could barely be heard over the ongoing chortles of their teammates.

Sid hoped to hell the media attributed his red face to exertion and that nobody asked why he had a box of dryer sheets sitting in his stall.

Post-season was always a whole new challenge. Grit and raw determination holding together bodies that were tired and battered. But the Pens refused to go out again in the first round. 

Their first game against the Canes was a wild one. But Geno, who finished the season with 103 points, was an absolute beast, scoring four points on his way to their 5-3 victory.

When the boys entered the locker room, some old-school rock was playing on the sound system. Sid didn’t think much of it until, he heard the younger guys singing along and changing the lyrics:

“She was a fast machine,

She kept her motor clean,

She was the best damn woman I had ever seen

She had the sightless eyes

Telling me no lies

Knockin' me out with those **Canadian thighs**.”

The words _ Canadian thighs _ were, of course, bellowed at top volume, causing the rest of the team to pay attention.

“Oh my God, that doesn’t even make any sense,” Sid groaned, draping a towel over his head and scrubbing at his sweat-soaked hair as the whole team belted out the line on the replay.

From under the cover of his towel, Sid watched as Sully tried to contain his amusement as he walked into the locker room and gestured for the stereo to be turned down.

The next night was another win at home. The three stars of the game were announced and Sid was the first star, thanks to a spectacular goal in the third that gave them the win. As Sid was leaving the ice, the in-area sound system started playing “Shook Me All Night Long,” and Sid couldn’t help the slight grimace that crossed his face as he heard his teammates belting out “Canadian thighs” from the tunnel.

As he sat in his stall answering post-game questions, one of The Athletic reporters asked him about it. “Sid, I noticed you made a face when they played ‘Shook Me All Night Long’ on the arena sound system as you were leaving the ice. Is there a story there?”

Sid forced himself not to roll his eyes, instead gritting out a smile and a small laugh. “No, not really, just not my favorite song.”

“So, it’s not your new win song?” Jason Mackey from the Post-Gazette persisted, smelling a story here despite Sid’s denials.

“No way. Just reminded me of something I’d rather not think about now,” Sid denied politely. “We need to keep our focus firmly on hockey.”

Josh Yohe from The Athletic moved over to Geno, who was doing his own media not too far away. “Geno, what can you tell me about Sid’s reaction to the song they played as he was leaving the ice?”

Geno grinned hugely. “Oh, just remind Sid of bet.”

“Bet? What bet?” Josh honed in on the human interest angle like a shark smelling blood.

“Can’t say more. Just make small bet with Sid at beginning of season,” Geno demurred. “Really, can’t say more.” Despite several teasing looks, Geno refused to say anything else, just telling them to ask Sid if they wanted to know more.

Josh quickly moved on to some of the younger guys before they finished their scrums. “So what can you tell us about Sid and Geno’s bet?” 

Jake Guentzel flashed his dimples. “You want the naked truth? You’ll probably have to wait until the end of the season for the full reveal.” His comment set off a round of giggles from the younger guys, but that was all Josh could coax out of any of them.

They knocked Carolina out in five games and, as the team celebrated on the ice, the arena entertainment system again blasted “Shook Me All Night Long,” this time with slightly altered lyrics.

“**He** was a fast machine,

He kept his motor clean,

He was the best damn player I had ever seen

He had the sightless eyes

Telling me no lies

Knockin’ ’em out with those **Canadian thighs**.”

As the new lyrics flashed on the scoreboard the crowd started to sing along.

Sid, in the middle of a huddle of his teammates, promised, “I am going to kill you all. You are so dead, it’s not even funny.”

The guys just laughed and several made a point to slap his ass as they broke apart to salute the crowd.

As they left the ice, Sid spotted Jen Bullano Ridgley standing off to one side, waiting to tag players for that night’s media duty. “I can’t believe you let them play that, Jen. Really? You’re the head of P.R.”

Jen shot him a very dry look, “It was better than ‘Centerfold’ by the J. Geils Band, which was actually their first choice.” She met Sid’s appalled look head on. “You can thank me later. With very expensive chocolates.”

Sid made a mental note to place an order that night.

Sid and, surprisingly, the rest of team, refused to comment on the meaning of their new win song with its adjusted lyrics. “Ask again when the season is over,” became a standard answer.

But if the team stood firm in front of the media, they went a little wild behind closed doors. Suddenly, the post-game playlist was filled with songs like “Baby Got Back,” “My Humps” and “Shake Your Booty.” Sid even heard the awful “Milkshake” song Jared had referred to earlier in the season.

They played the Islanders in the second round and the Pens again pushed through in five. After every win, they played “Shook Me All Night Long,” the crowd singing along at top volume. 

On ice, Johnny Boychuk spent an entire game chirping Sid about his “fucking Canadian thighs”, but Sid just rolled his eyes and stole the puck, flipping it back to Jake for a rush up the ice.

The playlist in the room consisted of “Bootylicious,” “Anaconda” and, of all things, “Honky Tonk Badonkadonk.” Sid groaned and threw tape balls at Brian Dumoulin, the team DJ, but the steady stream of butt songs kept on playing.

The third round was Toronto. They were young and pumped and still no competition for the Pens. Geno and Sid put on a clinic, demonstrating that old and wily was better than just young and talented. It took all seven games, but the Pens prevailed. The home crowd sang, the reporters kept badgering and Sid secretly began to plot ways to keep his mother and grandmother from seeing him in the buff in ESPN.

Geno and the team replaced their pocket squares with artfully tucked dryer sheets for media day as they prepared to face Vegas in the finals. Sid prayed that the match-up against Flower would distract the media, but no such luck. 

“Sid, your teammates are all sporting unique pocket squares, but you’re not. Can you tell us what’s up with that?” Josh Yohe asked.

“I refuse to wear a dryer sheet as an accessory.”

“But all of them are. There must be some significance.” Josh persisted.

“They think they’re being funny, chirping me about the stupid bet. Honestly, it’s significant only to those jokers.” Sid stated, knowing even that was too much. Josh came at it from multiple angles, trying to get more out of the Penguins captain, but Sid refused to say anything further.

Sid groaned when the headlines screamed about the “Joker Pens” taking on the “Las Vegas House” as the two teams took the ice.

Flower sent Sid a text:** Bet? I want details.**

Sid:** No.**

Flower:** Ooh, it’s embarrassing. Now I must know.**

Sid:** Why would you think that?**

Flower:** You have to wear Geno’s Team Russia jersey in public?**

Sid:** *eyeroll emoji* No.**

Flower:** A tattoo? You have to get Geno’s name tattooed on your ass?**

Sid:** What?! No!**

Flower:** Never mind. I’ll get it out of Kris. Or Geno.**

Sid:** Leave it alone, Flower.**

Sid:** Flower?**

Sid:** Flower?!**

Fuck! Now Sid had to worry about Flower, too. Wasn’t the bet bad enough without the extra stress of prankster goalies?

An hour later, Sid got another text from Flower that was composed of a string of eggplant emojis followed by laugh-’til-you’re-crying emojis.

Flower: **I refuse to let you win, but if you do manage to beat us, I am going to consider this suitable punishment. Vero is going to laugh her ass off when she hears about this!**

More eggplant emojis followed by laugh-’til-you’re-crying emojis

Sid texted the Penguins group chat: **Goddamn it! Which one of you ASSHOLES spilled to the beans to Flower?!?**

Each game of the final was a hard-fought battle. Flower knew them better than any other goalie in the league and he did his damnedest to stop every shot. Sid’s heart twinged just a little when he scored the game-winning goal against his friend to take the series to a Game 7. He wanted to win, damn it, but it sucked that it had to be against Flower.

Game 7, at home in front of the Pittsburgh faithful, was a raucous affair. The Pens were behind through two, but Geno tied it at the top of the third. With 15 seconds left, Geno won a face-off, tossing the puck to Galchenyuck, who scored the final goal.

The Pens mobbed the ice in celebration as the final seconds ticked off the clock.

After the bittersweet handshake line, AC/DC blasted over the speakers for what Sid sincerely hoped would be the very last time. The trophies were presented. Geno accepted the Conn Smythe. Then Sid once again accepted the Cup, raising it high to massive cheers from the Penguins fans. The two of them, standing next to each other, each holding a trophy overhead, would be the front page image on the next day’s Post-Gazette.

When the team finally made it off the ice but before the celebrations began in earnest, Sid faced a barrage of questions about the bet from the media. 

Still sticky from his champagne bath, Sid smirked just a little. “Gonna have to be patient a little longer boys. Ask me again in September.” The collective groan from the media made Sid actually laugh. 

And if Sid’s arrival at Mario’s just happened to be greeted with “I’m Too Sexy” blasting on the sound system, well, fortunately there were no journalists around to capture Sid yelling, “Payback is hell, fuckers! Just remember that!” at his laughing teammates.

When ESPN’s body issue hits the stands that fall, the cover picture features Sid and Geno standing side by side — naked. Arms draped around each other’s shoulders, the four Cup rings each sports are easy to see. With their free hand, each man holds one end of the Stanley Cup as it just barely protects their modesty.

**Author's Note:**

> "I don't know why you got to hold the big end of the Cup," Sid complained, not for the first time.  
"Been over this. I'm need it most, Sid."


End file.
